Tuesday, 12 March 2013


I was Wordsworth's cloud;
     essence of Sandalwood, some Pine,
     resin of Aloe, condensed drop-
lets; some rising and rising
     embers in cooling blue sailing
up in windless Frankincense, parading
     o'er hills and vales, mankind.

From the ash below me you glowed,
     my Makko in the valley
     of the Tabu-No-Ki trees,
and as I grounded into your Dragon's
Blood we boiled, distilled, oxidised
     more Myrrh, Mastic, the Juniper
of the Cocoa Grasslands, then breathed.

Thicker than Wordsworth's cloud,
     our Elemi soared into the stratus
     o'er the Himalayan Cedar, the Atlantic,
the Lebanon; densing o'er Norwegian Spruce;
     sour Earth-ashes of before
fell from our budding field of lavender,
as we swelled the vales of our atmosphere.